“We’re missing something. The answer’s in my peripheral vision, but I can’t quite see it.” She was beyond frustrated.
“No ransom, cryptic messages, zero forensic evidence. The kidnapper’s a pro. Henri used a burner cell to set off the limo explosion, but so far nothing to trace back to whoever orchestrated Helena’s murder.”
“She knew the kidnapper’s identity but wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”
“And the Moleskine is gone. I have Paco working his connections in Colombia to analyze the FARC angle, but I agree with you—the real kidnapper had nothing to do with what happened on the supertanker. He’s playing an intricate game and doesn’t want to reveal himself yet. Could it be someone in our industry? It feels like they have the rulebook on kidnapping, making none of the typical mistakes.”
“And always several steps ahead. We need to catch up before we reach checkmate.”
“I’m worried about your safety. The attack in the alley, the plane crash . . . they keep coming for you. It makes me think they missed you on the yacht. The timing of your stair run might have saved your life,” Hakan said.
“I lost all my belongings in the plane crash, so if they planted a tracker, that’s out of the picture now. Rif and I are on full alert, so don’t worry.”
“I can’t help but worry. We keep striking out chasing leads. I have the team working every angle, including ISIS, Ares, the Russian mob, General Jemwa, Prime Minister Kimweri, the Chinese . . . the list goes on.”
“Don’t discredit an event from the distant past. The planning involved in such a complex operation would take the patience of Job. It’s also the twentieth anniversary of Nikos’s kidnapping, coming full circle now that Papa has been taken.”
“Speaking of which, have you heard from your brother?” Hakan had a soft spot for Nikos, maybe because he knew what had happened during his captivity.
“No. He wasn’t pleased he’d been left out of the loop. Someone stuck his old psychiatric notes in my bag, the full story. All my life, I’ve been fed lies. Why didn’t anyone tell me what he’d really endured?”
Silence echoed on the line for an endless moment. “Christos insisted. One child had been stripped of his innocence. Your father didn’t want you to lose your childhood as well.”
“What about when I grew up? Didn’t I deserve to know the truth about my own brother?”
“That wasn’t my decision to make.”
“Was Nikos told not to say anything?” Her heart ached for her brother—she couldn’t imagine living through such horrors, then having to hide it all.
“You’ll need to ask your father about all of this.”
And she would, but she needed to find him first. “Any leads on the latest text?”
“Sent from another burner phone, disabled immediately after it was used.”
“You think the kidnapper hired the men on the Damocles to distract us?” she asked.
“When someone as wealthy as Christos is kidnapped, everyone comes looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, or ten million euros. It could be totally unrelated.”
“FARC knew about Papa’s watch.”
“Things have a way of leaking out. They didn’t have the actual watch; they just knew about it. I have the lab analyzing it for fingerprints or other evidence.”
A knock on the door jolted her. “I need to go. The cocktail party hosted by the prime minister starts shortly. I plan on spending time with General Jemwa—I definitely don’t trust him. And what about the plane crash?”
“I’m meeting with experts this afternoon.”
“Please keep me posted.”
“I’m on it.”
“I feel lucky to have you in my corner, boss.”
“Always.”
Another knock. She pressed the end button and stared through the peephole.
Peter Kennedy. Just what she didn’t need.
She tightened the sash on her robe and opened the door.
“I thought we should have a drink before the party starts, talk strategy about tomorrow’s negotiations.” He stood on the threshold, dressed in a cream-colored suit with a pale orange tie and matching pocket puff. With all their luggage lost in the crash, how the hell had he found such an outfit so quickly?
“How about we meet after the party, say, around ten o’clock? I’m not quite ready. I asked the hotel gift shop to send up a dress.”
His gaze drifted to the neckline of her robe. It took an effort not to cringe.
He blinked a few times, his eyelids fluttering in a weird pattern. “Why don’t we sit in the gardens? I don’t want anyone overhearing us. When Christos returns—and he will return—I want him to be proud of what we’ve accomplished in his absence. This deal—it could change everything.”
“Absolutely. See you at the party.”
She closed the door and collapsed in the nearest chair, weary of presenting a brave front. Kidnappings were often prolonged, demanding infinite patience and a poker face, but none of her experiences had prepared her for this intensely personal and confounding case. Grief and worry were shaped differently when the stakes were so close to home.